


Tachycardia

by jachiavellian



Category: Casualty (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jachiavellian/pseuds/jachiavellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll see you in a few hours," Connie said quietly, placing her hand on the blonde's arm. Her fingers lingered delicately there for a few seconds. Rita blinked, slightly confused as she met the older woman's gaze. A million questions raced through her mind, but she settled on just one.</p>
<p>"Why are you doing this, Connie?"</p>
<p>The Clinical Lead exhaled, glancing away before she replied.</p>
<p>"Someone has to care."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resorption

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially posted on fanfiction.net on my old account there (bardolatry). Since I'm going to be working mostly on AO3 from now on I thought I'd publish it here as well. I hope you enjoy it!

 The intrusive sound of an alarm broke the morning silence. Rita groaned, rolling over in her bed and slamming a hand down on the snooze button. She opened one eye blearily, vaguely registering the light streaming through the gap in the curtains before squeezing it shut again and nestling into her duvet. At a push she could manage another five minutes in bed before she needed to get up for work. Besides, it was cold outside and the world beneath the covers was warm and inviting. Sighing deeply, the blonde tugged her legs up to her chest, assuming a foetal position. Just five minutes...

* * *

The ED was unusually quiet that morning, and the clipped sound of stabbing heels could be heard from down the corridor as the Clinical Lead made her way from her office to reception. She looked prim as ever, an ironed pencil skirt hugging her thighs and coming to rest just below her knees.

"Mrs Beauchamp," Noel called in greeting, a wide grimace plastered across his face as he addressed her. "You're looking particularly smart today. Can I help?"

"Yes, have you seen Rita?" Connie sounded familiarly exasperated as she dropped a stack of files onto the desk. "We're short staffed again and she's been absent a lot recently."

"She's not come in yet. Perhaps she's sick."

"Well it's not good enough," her tone was clipped as she replied, eyes lowered contemptuously to focus on the document she was signing. "Send her to my office when she finally sees fit to arrive."

Noel pulled a face as she snatched up a new pile of papers before turning away, her heels clicking against the floor. He sighed, sinking into his seat and scribbling down a reminder to speak to Rita as soon as he saw her. Even if he didn't have to speak to Mrs Beauchamp again that day, it was guaranteed to be a long one; the ice settling outside would surely result in a number of casualties, and he had overheard Charlie mentioning a few RTAs that had already occurred overnight.

"'Scuse me," an impatient voice from in front of the desk jerked him out of his thoughts, and the grimace returned to his face instantly. An old woman peered up at him through olive-rimmed spectacles. The top of her balding head barely reached the surface of the desk, and he stooped slightly to speak to her, adopting once again his carefree receptionist voice.

"Yes, how can I help you, madam?"

It was going to be a long shift.

* * *

Connie exhaled, descending into her chair with less grace than she'd hoped. There was a buzz from her pocket and she retrieved her phone, eyes rolling upwards briefly as she read Guy Self's name across the screen. For the third time that day, she decided, he would have to wait, and so she placed the device face down on the tabletop.

It wasn't that she didn't need to speak to him; on the contrary, there were several important matters that needed discussing, namely the quality of triage and the nursing staff. Yet she couldn't summon the energy to conduct a formal conversation with him - not now, at least. Besides, there were several more pressing matters at hand.

Rita Freeman.

The Clinical Lead steepled her fingers, elbows coming to rest on the desk as she thought. It was certainly unlike her to be absent so frequently; as far as she knew Rita was very proud of her job. Meaning that something was wrong. Noel had suggested that she was sick, and Connie supposed that it was feasible, and yet she hadn't rung in at all to announce it to management so that a cover could be arranged.

Giving in to her curiosity, Connie tugged her fingers apart and reached for the computer mouse to access the medical database. The page flashed up, and her hands danced across the keys to type the Clinical Nurse Manager's name. There was a distinct pause before she hit the return key; strictly speaking it was unprofessional of her to check up on Rita's medical records. But she needed a contact number, and it couldn't hurt to glance over her details whilst she found it. And, she added mentally, it was her job to know about every single member of staff working beneath her. Nobody could object to that.

Feeling like her actions were at least justified, she scanned the page, tapping at the downwards arrow key every so often. Of course, the contact number was positioned neatly at the top of the page, but she was hardly going to pass the opportunity to sneak a look at the nurse's history.

Connie frowned as she reached the bottom of the page. Yesterday's date was listed, with reference to a Dr Martins. She rested her chin on one hand. That name was certainly familiar, and she was certain she had referred patients to him before.

Paediatrics? No, definitely not. There was no chance Rita would need that area of medical care, as far as she was aware. Especially not with the track record of her husband. Connie frowned, fingers toying absent mindedly with the hem of her skirt.

Then it struck her. Of course. The elderly lady with leukaemia had been transferred just last week to-

Her heart sank.

Oncology.

Dr Martins was an oncologist.


	2. Inertia

It was approaching midday when the phone rang. By then, heavy strips of winter light were pervading the room, painting the interior with a cold golden hue. In the bed, Rita rolled over, inhaling deeply once before stretching her legs out, her back arching in an awkward, drowsy movement. As soon as she opened her eyes she knew something was wrong.

She swore under her breath and sat straight up, fingers jumping to her temple as her head spun with the sudden motion. A glance at the alarm clock confirmed her worries - she was several hours late for work.

Rita reached over for her phone, wincing at the stiffness in her arm and shoulder. The screen appeared too brightly before her ill-accustomed eyes, but she vaguely registered that she had three missed calls and a voicemail, as well as several unread texts. Her fingers poked clumsily at the screen, and it took her a few attempts to open and play the voicemail before she swung her legs to one side to locate the floor.

There was one flat-toned beep before a voice spoke from the device. "Rita, sweetheart, it's Dixie. Look, I don't know what's wrong but let me know once you've heard this, okay?"

The briefest of smiles flickered across her face, and she opened her messages to compose a brief text to the paramedic, slowly rising to her feet as she typed. It was so like Dixie to be concerned about her.

Fifteen minutes later saw the nurse sitting atop her kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal in one hand and an endless list of excuses for being late running through her mind. She knew that ultimately, whichever she chose, Connie would see straight through it anyway. That woman had been out to get her ever since Mark...

But it didn't matter anymore. As long as Connie kept away from the nurses and didn't jeopardise the patients, what she did was really none of Rita's business. And yet the clinical lead still managed to frustrate her more than anyone else ever had. Sometimes she felt that every move she made was monitored, in eager anticipation for her to slip up. The final straw had been Grace's disappearance. Rita had been so certain that her career at Holby was over; she had felt so conflicted. Deep down, she knew that Mark wasn't a predator, and yet her colleagues had all been so quick to blame him. She had called it his 'curse'. His expression had made it clear that he knew she was right. Wherever he was at that moment, she couldn't help but hope he was okay.

Her phone vibrated on the work surface, creating an unpleasant ricocheted banging noise. Rita pulled a face and set her bowl aside to answer the call. Her brow furrowed; she didn't recognise the number. Regardless, she swiped the screen and shuffled down from the counter, balancing the phone on her left shoulder and tilting her head to keep it in place as she started to clean up.

"Hello?"

"Rita, it's Connie." The rich voice sounding from the phone took her by surprise, and she almost let the phone slide from her shoulder in her astonishment.

"Connie. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She managed to keep her tone as free from sarcasm as possible, for what it was worth. She knew what was coming either way.

"You know perfectly well why I'm calling. Your first shift started five hours ago. I expect you have a good reason for not coming in today?"

"Well actually, I overslept," she replied evenly, crouching to slide her bowl into the dishwasher. "I think my alarm's broken, but-"

"Yes, whatever, I don't care," Connie replied, and Rita raised her eyes to the ceiling, exhaling in frustration. "Just come straight to my office as soon as you get here."

Rita opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a single beep, indicating that Connie had hung up. She took her phone in her right hand, glancing at it in silent outrage for a few moments before stuffing it into her pocket. It was a conversation that could afford to be postponed. Right now she had to focus on getting to work.

* * *

It took Rita roughly ten minutes to arrive at Holby City ED, and all the while she felt utterly exhausted. The doors swung open before her, and she narrowly missed being trampled on by a rather large, imposing figure of a man, who pushed past without acknowledging her presence. Slightly affronted, she continued to reception. The waiting area appeared to be slightly backed up, and she guessed that nobody would be in a very good mood.

"Rita," Louise's impassive tone greeted her as she neared the desk. "Connie said she wants to see-"

"Yeah, I know, thanks."

"Alright, don't shoot the messenger." The receptionist held up her hands at the nurse's curt tone, lowering her gaze back to her paperwork. "She's in Resus at the moment, though. Maybe you should get changed and then wait."

"Maybe," Rita replied simply, already starting in the direction of the lockers. She had no intention of waiting when there was work to be done, especially if they were understaffed as usual. Whatever Connie had to say to her could wait - patients were their priority. Besides, she thought as she pulled her uniform from her locker, running her fingers over the dark blue material with some degree of pride, she didn't want to give the clinical lead the satisfaction of knowing that she had even a modicum of control over her. Connie's head was much too far up her own backside already, without her knowing that she could influence the nursing staff as well.

Rita pushed her locker closed, letting out a brief sigh and turning to lean against it. Her muscles were feeling particularly achy that day. But she couldn't afford to miss another shift - people would start to wonder, and that was the last thing she needed. To some extent she felt guilty about keeping another secret from her friends, but this one had to be left unknown. Gossip in Holby spread fast; she of all people knew that. Besides, it was much more personal, and she wasn't sure if she could stand the inevitable sympathy that was usually directed towards cancer sufferers.

Somewhere in the ED, there was the sound of bodily fluids hitting the floor. Rita winced, eyes closing as she occupied her mind with the possible details. Perhaps she would let Lofty and Robyn deal with cubicles for the rest of the day. She could take over in Resus.

Another splat sounded from outside. Yes, she thought, stomach turning. She would handle Resus.


	3. Truncation

"Alright, what've we got?" Connie looked up at the sound of a familiar voice and frowned as the Clinical Nurse Manager swept into Resus, tugging on a pair of gloves.

"I thought I told you to see me in my office," she said, an edge to her tone as Rita took her place on the other side of the patient.

"Yes, well you're not in your office," came the blunt reply.

Connie bit back an utterance of exasperation, keeping her gaze fixed on her clipboard as she scribbled a few things down. "This is Tom Perkins, 37, involved in an RTA about half an hour ago. There are multiple glass wounds to the face and neck, although most are superficial. I'm concerned about possible internal bleeding from the impact of the crash - he's having trouble breathing."

"He's tachycardic," Rita reported, glancing across at his vital signs.

"Yes, I am aware of that, thank you," the Clinical Lead returned frostily. "Saline."

The nurse raised her eyes to the ceiling at Connie's words, deftly hanging up a litre of the clear liquid and shuffling around the bed to inspect the man's facial injuries. She ran a gloved finger over one of the deep cuts, brow furrowing. The injuries marred the entire of one side of his face, thankfully missing the eye by a couple of centimetres.

"We might need plastics on this," she murmured, looking up at Connie, who was still avoiding her gaze completely. "Alright, Tom, can you hear me?"

"I'm not deaf yet, thanks," came the disgruntled reply, followed by a feeble bout of coughing.

"Standard procedure, I'm afraid," Rita said, tone bright as she watched the clinical lead explore the Tom's torso with her hands, delicately squeezing around certain areas and occasionally eliciting a sharp intake of air from the patient. "So, how did you manage this?"

"I was minding my own business, wasn't I?" He grumbled. "Then this bastard comes out of nowhere and- ah!" Connie stood up straight, clearly satisfied as she withdrew her hands from Tom's body. She lifted down his shirt to cover the area of skin she'd been inspecting and reached for the notes to write a few things down.

"Okay, Tom, CT should be ready for you soon so we'll send you off for a scan. Sister Freeman, I don't suppose you could cease the small talk and find someone to take him up?"

"Well I can do that myself," Rita replied, a little thrown by Connie's curt tone of voice. She seemed to be even more hostile than usual; it had to be down to her lateness.

"Oh no, you and I need to talk." She still would not look up, and the clinical nurse manager felt a surge of frustration at her attitude.

"Right, yes, of course. Well-"

"Once you two have finished your domestic, I am actually in pain here." They were cut off by a snide voice from below them, and Connie closed her eyes briefly.

"My apologies, Mr Perkins. Could we start him on five milligrams of morphine, please Rita?"

"Yep," Rita nodded, heading away from the bed to retrieve the drug. As she returned, another nurse took it from her hands and indicated to the door, where Connie stood with her arms folded. She rolled her eyes, half tempted to insist upon administrating the drugs herself, but it was hardly worth the fuss. Best to get the conversation over with as soon as possible.

"Okay," she started, halting next to the Clinical Lead and taking a deep breath. "About this morning-"

"I'm really not interested in the details of this morning," Connie interrupted, eyes trained on Tom as she spoke. "What I'd really like to know is when you were planning on telling us about your little visits to Oncology."

Rita faltered, lips parted in surprise. For a moment, all she could do was stare; there was a power struggle between rage and despondency taking place in her mind. Her eyes stung. Then she swallowed, lips pursing momentarily. "You've been looking at my records," she managed to say, her low voice threatening to break.

"I had to access them to find your phone number this morning," Connie replied, nonchalant, although she looked for something to move the conversation along before Rita had a chance to point out that her contact details were at the top of the page, whilst the information concerning her recent appointments was listed at the very bottom. "How bad is it?"

"Suspected stage two," the nurse said, looking away. There was no point in trying to hide information anymore. "Ovarian."

"Epithelial?" The clinical lead seemed slightly surprised. Rita just nodded, blinking hard a few times to clear the prickling sensation behind her eyes.

"It's rare for a woman of your age..."

"My mum had breast cancer," Rita's voice quivered. Connie pretended not to notice.

"And what sort of treatment are you having?"

"A hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy," she repeated the terms somewhat woodenly, as if she were accustomed to hearing them. "Followed by six cycles of chemotherapy."

"Then you'll need quite a lot of time off work."

Rita gritted her teeth. "I'm glad you have your priorities sorted," she said, fingers curling into fists at her side. Trust Connie to think only of her beloved department.

"All I meant was-"

"Save it. I'm sure you can find someone to fill my position for a few weeks. I don't intend to be away for too long." Rita's hard stare left Connie, flitting briefly around Resus before she turned on her heel to leave.

"Of course," came the meek reply from behind her. Surprised, she hesitated. Was Connie Beauchamp feeling sorry for her? Surely not; that was far too out of character to even consider. Putting her confusion down to tiredness, she shrugged the thought aside and headed towards the reception area. Perhaps a drink could clear her head.

It was approaching three o'clock by the time Rita finally got to take a break. Her previous plans to get a drink were interrupted by the arrival of a young girl mid-seizure, and it had taken a good forty five minutes to stabilise her. All the while, Connie had worked beside her in an uncomfortable silence. Rita knew there were many things left unsaid. It was a strange bond that had been formed between them; the Clinical Lead knew a truth that nobody else could hear if she wanted to continue working effectively at Holby. And yet Rita trusted her to keep her mouth shut. She wasn't quite sure why.

"Let me get that for you," a voice sounded from beside her and she started, jerked from her thoughts.

"Charlie! No, I've got it, it's fine."

"I insist," the nurse said with a lopsided smile, sliding a few coins across the counter to the barista, who turned away to prepare the drink. "Are you feeling okay? Only you've been absent a lot lately, and we're all worried about you."

Rita's expression softened, and she relaxed visibly in her demeanour. "Oh, I'm fine. I've just been a little unwell, that's all."

Charlie didn't seem too convinced, but he nodded all the same. "Just... Let me know if there's anything I can do, okay?"

"Thank you," she said, pressing her lips together into a sort of half-smile as he moved away from the counter.

As soon as he was out of sight, she let out a soft sigh, pressing one palm to her temple. The barista placed her coffee down in front of her with a sympathetic smile as he saw her expression, and she fixed her stare on him for a few moments before taking the coffee in her hands and turning to walk away.

Rita eventually settled in her office, closing the door with a little more force than necessary and moving to close the blinds. The ED had quietened considerably since that morning, yet there was still an influx of people coming in with minor injuries. She placed her coffee down on the desk, going to rifle through the stack of paperwork that she found there, but stopping as she caught sight of a folded piece of paper sat on top. Curious, Rita picked it up and ran her thumb along the side to open it. The writing inside was elegantly slanted, and she recognised it almost instantly.

Rita,

I have made the necessary arrangements for your operation to be pushed forwards. Dr Martins has agreed to look over the details with you. Your chemotherapy will also be rescheduled - I can't have my Clinical Nurse Manager missing too much work.

Best regards,

Connie


	4. Asthenia

Rita placed down the letter, collapsing into her seat with a heavy sigh. What were Connie's motives for helping her? She looked over the piece of paper again, making certain that it definitely was the Clinical Lead's cursive and not some elaborate prank. But there was no mistaking it.

There was a knock at the door, and she hastily stuffed the letter into her pocket as Lofty shuffled awkwardly into the office. Rita smiled despite herself as the staff nurse hit the wall accidentally with the back of his head, letting out a surprised exclamation and jumping forwards.

"Oh, Lofty. What is it?"

"Tess told me to get you," he said sheepishly, rubbing his head through the mass of black curls. "Something about a major incident. A helicopter crash, I think. It sounds pretty serious."

"Okay. Thank you," she said, rising to her feet. "Er, have you seen Connie?"

Lofty glanced to the side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I think she's on a break too, but she'll be needed in Resus, right?"

Rita nodded, brow furrowing as she neatened the stack of papers on her desk. "Right. Thanks again."

"It was no problem," Lofty said with a lopsided smile, pausing before he turned and left the room. As he left, Rita moved out from behind her desk, fingers resting at her lips. She would have to speak to Connie about it. One part of her felt indignant that she had become so involved in such a personal matter. The other part... Well, she supposed that she felt strangely humbled by it. The last thing she had expected was to be valued by Connie. The words 'my Clinical Nurse Manager' stuck in her head and she shook the thought away, vaguely irritated. Really, how could she work if she was so distracted? Perhaps she should have taken the day off after all.

* * *

"Time of death, sixteen thirty two," Rita stepped back from the patient at Zoe's voice, breathing heavily. The unnamed man on the bed lay completely still, eyes closed peacefully. If it weren't for the extensive wounds to his upper body, one might think he was simply sleeping. She had lost count of exactly how many cycles of CPR she had performed, but her arms pricked uncomfortably as she raised a hand to wipe her forehead. It was clammy to her touch, and she moved away from the bed, seeking the exterior of the ED to cool herself down.

The sun was low in the sky as Rita stood outside the doors to the department, arms folded against her chest. It was relatively quiet, the only noise being the rumble of ambulance engines and occasional clatters from inside the ED. She let her eyelids flutter shut for a few moments, relishing the sensation of the afternoon air against her flushed skin.

"There was nothing else we could do," a voice spoke from behind her. Rita exhaled softly, opening her eyes to stare out across the road. Connie had followed her out.

"I know," came her quiet reply. "He was as good as dead the moment he fell from that helicopter."

Connie murmured her assent, watching the blonde from behind. Her expression was guarded, although something stirred in her eyes as Rita turned around to face her, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Look, I don't want to be pitied. That is exactly why I kept it quiet in the first place."

"I don't pity you."

"Then explain this," Rita produced the letter from her pocket. The wind stirred the paper, and it fluttered gently in her grip as Connie's gaze fell on it.

"I believe I justified my actions in writing," the Clinical Lead responded. "It would do the department no good for you to be away for so long."

"I thought you wanted me out," Rita met her gaze and held it, her own dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. There was little hostility left between them at that moment, and it was a strange feeling. Almost relieving.

"I-" Connie faltered for the first time, and Rita thought she might avoid answering altogether until she swallowed and opened her mouth to speak again. "I believe my judgement may have been clouded in the past by the actions of your husband. My apologies."

Rita's expression softened at the mention of Mark, and for a moment she looked as if she might waver. But she bit her lip, hesitating for the briefest second before speaking again.

"Thank you, Connie."

There was a brief period of silence, under which neither female knew exactly what to say. Rita folded her arms in a slightly awkward gesture, the letter tucked between her middle and index fingers.

"Right, yes, well you should get back to work," the Clinical Lead recovered her familiarly professional demeanour and Rita sighed inwardly. "Most of the other patients involved in the crash have been moved up to cubicles, but there's still one left in Resus. We're still waiting for contact details for her."

"Did you manage to get hold of that man's next of kin?" Rita questioned, tucking a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Yes," Connie replied. "A woman by the name of Joan Ring. That was Ian Ring, her son. She's been informed and I believe she's on her way now."

"Poor woman. It must be awful to lose a child." There was a few moments of silence before Rita realised what she had just said. Connie's expression had hardened. "Oh, Connie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Just get back to work." The Clinical Lead's voice was clipped, and she turned from the nurse to head back inside.

Rita watched her leave, eyes round. As soon as Connie was out of sight, she tilted her face up to the sky in defeat. As soon as she had managed an almost civil conversation with her, she had gone and blown it by saying something stupid. It was in the patients' interest that they worked well together, and it would definitely make her life easier. She wasn't sure she had the energy to deal with Connie on her back for much longer.

* * *

The light outside was darkening, but reception was still very much alive. Lofty stood at reception, leaning against the front desk. He covered his mouth with a hand to conceal a yawn.

"Busy day?" He spun around to see Rita approaching him. The blonde looked exhausted, and he frowned inwardly. Something seemed off about her recently.

"Hey, Boss," the address was an affectionate one, and she gave him a weary smile.

"Alright, Lofty?"

"Yeah, er, I heard about your patient. I'm sorry."

"Well, there was nothing we could do for him," she pressed her lips together.

There was a loud clatter behind them and Lofty jumped. An elderly lady let out a surprised cry, stooping slightly in an attempt to reach a crutch on the floor - evidently the source of the noise. Rita was by her side in an instant, muttering a few soothing words as she crouched to pick up the crutch.

"It's alright, darling, I've got it."

"Oh, thank you, dear. I was looking for the toilets." The woman peered up at Rita through her glasses.

"That's not a problem. I can take you now if you like."

"Yes, thank you." Lofty smiled as she was led away. He was about to turn back to the desk, but something on the floor caught his eye. A small scrap of paper, neatly folded. Frowning, the nurse went to retrieve it. It must have fallen out of Rita's pocket when she bent to pick up the lady's crutch. Lofty glanced around, but she was nowhere in sight. Almost instinctively, he unfolded the paper.

"What's that?" Max's voice interrupted him, but he barely registered it as the porter peered over his shoulder at the letter. One word in particular jumped out at him from the paper, stunning him into silence.

Chemotherapy.


	5. Cataplasm

Dixie's shift ended early that evening, and since she was well in the habit of going for a drink after work, she headed straight for the pub. Her day had been, quite frankly, exhausting, and she hadn't had time for lunch due to a call from a teenage boy who'd been stupid enough to drink an entire bottle of tobasco sauce as a dare. Upon arrival, she had quickly deduced that his trachea wasn't, in fact, burning, and had prescribed an entire loaf of bread to ease the sensation. Of course she would laugh about it later, but all she could think at that moment was that it was a terrible waste of both her time and her resources.

A welcoming glow flooded from the interior of the pub, and as she pushed the door open she heard the familiar hum of conversation that awaited her.

"Ah, Dixie!" She'd know that voice anywhere, and sure enough she turned towards the corner to see Big Mac, a large glass clutched in one hand. Dixie frowned slightly as she took note of the other members of the table. On his immediate right sat Max, the porter, and next to him was Robyn, animated as always and mid-conversation with her stepbrother.

"Y'alright, Mac?" She asked wearily, making her way over to sit opposite him.

"I'm fine as ever," he replied, Welsh accent made thicker by the alcohol. "Say, is Iain on his way or not?"

"'Fraid not. He was pretty tired so he's gone straight home to rest."

Mac nodded, lips turning downwards a little as he pursed them. "Right you are, Dix. Fancy a drink?"

She murmured her assent, and the Emergency Care Assistant heaved himself from his seat to approach the bar. Dixie turned her head to watch him for a few moments before she focused her attention on Robyn and Max. The two were chatting in low voices, although she could pick out most of their words over the general clamour of the pub.

"So, you know how everyone's been saying that Rita looks a bit off at the moment," Max was speaking, and Dixie raised her head at the mention of her friend, subconsciously moving closer to listen.

"Yeah, I mean the whole department's noticed it," Robyn returned. "Why? Do you know what's happened?"

"Well," The porter dragged out the word, stalling the coming statement and all the while gauging his stepsister's reaction. "Lofty found a note addressed to her from Connie about rescheduling her chemotherapy." His words were hushed, and Dixie replayed them a few times in her head to make sure she'd heard correctly.

"Chemotherapy? She's got cancer? She hasn't said anything!"

"It's a bit personal, isn't it?" Max sounded almost exasperated. "I'm surprised you haven't heard by now, to be honest. I thought Lofty would have told you."

"Well, where is she now?" Robyn looked concerned.

"She went home. I think Charlie went to talk to her once he found out, and it all went downhill from there."

Dixie had heard enough. Torn between feelings of shock and anger, the paramedic rose from her seat. Robyn realised what was going on and looked up, colour flooding her cheeks.

"I- I'm sorry, Dixie, I just-"

"Yeah, well I think everyone's done enough gossiping today, don't you?"

Max and Robyn both avoided her gaze as she sidestepped around the table, heading straight for the door and ignoring Big Mac's protests as he returned with her drink.

"Dix! Where are you going?"

"There's something I need to sort out," she called as she reached the door, shooting him an apologetic glance. "Sorry, Mac. Another time, yeah?"

The man could only nod helplessly as he sat down again. Whatever was bothering her was none of his business, after all.

* * *

It was dark outside, and the street lamps were flickering on as Dixie arrived at Rita's flat. She had only ever visited three times; usually they met up in town at a bar or a club. The paramedic made her way up the stairs to the third floor, counting five doors along before she paused to think. The news of her friend's cancer had come as a shock to her. Part of her motive for visiting was completely selfish - she had already lost Carol and Jeff without saying a proper goodbye. If it was serious, she couldn't bear to lose Rita too. But the more rational part of Dixie's mind reminded her that she didn't know anything yet. It could be a completely treatable tumour.

Dixie raised an almost-steady hand to the door, inhaling deeply before knocking four times. There was a small noise from inside the room, but nothing else to signal that Rita was going to answer. She knocked again.

"Rita? Rita, sweetheart, it's Dixie."

No reply. Inside, everything was silent.

"Open the door, Reets. We can sort this out."

There was a long pause, the sound of footsteps, and then, "is anyone else with you?"

"No. It's just me."

The door swung inwards, and Rita's face came into view. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin flushed.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dixie said softly. "Come here." And she pulled the younger woman into a tight hug.

A minute later, they broke apart. Rita wiped her eyes angrily with her bare arm, and Dixie noticed that she was still in her uniform.

"Have you eaten?" She asked gently, eliciting a shake of the head from the nurse. "Well, you go and get yourself changed and I'll order a Chinese."

For a moment it looked like Rita might protest, but Dixie folded her arms and she gave in, retreating silently to her room to change.

Once she was gone, the paramedic made her way through to the living room, already flicking through her contacts for the takeaway number. As she entered the room, her gaze fell on a half-empty bottle of liquor lying on the table and she closed her eyes briefly, suppressing her anger. She knew how Rita had struggled with alcohol in the past, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that she would go back to it, especially when her health was already compromised.

Her thought process was interrupted as a voice spoke from the phone, and for a few minutes she was occupied.

* * *

Rita reappeared a quarter of an hour later, a pale blue dressing gown wrapped around her petite figure. Dixie looked up from her seat at the sofa, holding up the liquor bottle without speaking.

Rita looked hurt, and met the paramedic's gaze with wide, sorrowful eyes. Dixie was reminded powerfully of Little Abs at feeding time. "It's not like that, Dixie. I just needed to calm down a bit."

"You can't put yourself through this again, Reets. It's not-"

"Just leave it," Rita interrupted, holding her hands up in defeat. "Please."

She looked to be on the brink of tears and Dixie felt a surge of pity rush through her. She had never seen her friend so defeated. There was a silence as Rita took a seat opposite her, staring down at her lap. She chewed on her bottom lip, evidently deep in thought.

"What kind of cancer is it?" Dixie asked at last.

"Ovarian."

"Oh, sweetheart."

"I don't want to be pitied," Rita looked up, chin jutting. "That's the reason why I didn't tell anyone."

"Except Mrs Beauchamp?" Dixie leant forwards in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees. That particular question had been at the back of her mind for some time; she was all too aware of the rivalry between the two women, and couldn't understand why Rita would confide in the clinical lead.

"She looked at my notes."

"Oh."

"I would've told you first, Dix. You know that."

"Yeah?"

"Of course! Who else is there?"

Dixie was saved from answering by a knock at the door. "That'll be the food. You stay there, I'll sort it."

"Thanks, Dixie," came the quiet reply, and the paramedic offered a small smile, getting to her feet to answer the door.

* * *

An hour later saw the two women sat beside each other on the couch. Rita's head rested on Dixie's shoulder, and her legs were curled to the side. The remnants of their takeaway lay on the table, and across from them the television was showing a chick flick that they had settled on without thinking too much into it. The liquor sat untouched.

"It's been ages since we've had a girly night in like this, eh Reets?" Dixie commented quietly. But only a soft snore answered her and she smiled, glancing down at her sleeping friend. Her face was scrunched up slightly, and every so often she would wriggle her toes. For the second time that night, Dixie was reminded of her dog, and she would have been amused, had the situation not been so grave.

Carefully, Dixie moved away from Rita, replacing her shoulder with a cushion and lowering her head down gently. The younger woman stirred, but did not wake. Their night had been pleasant, and she only hoped that she had managed to keep Rita's mind off the cancer. It had worked for her after Carol's death, after all.

The paramedic stood, glancing around the room. The table needed clearing. After a few moments, she sighed and began to move the plates to the dishwasher. Rita would be alright. She was, as Jeff had once said, stronger than she looked.


	6. Opiate

Rita paused outside the entrance to the ED the next morning, heart in her mouth. There was a slight chill in the air, but she had never felt less like going indoors. She thought back briefly to yesterday evening; Dixie must have left after she'd fallen asleep. The paramedic had left a note to explain a few things - the plates were in the dishwasher, her keys were next to the toaster, and she shouldn't worry about work the next day. The last one, however, had an adverse effect on her nerves. Rita couldn't face her colleagues, not now they all knew. It was something far too private to share - too personal. More than anything she despised the inevitable sympathy that would surely be directed at her. She was there to work, nothing more.

"Rita!" Her eyes closed briefly as Robyn's voice called across the car park. It took a few moments for her to prepare a bright expression before she turned to the nurse, a smile plastered across her face. Her voice came out almost too cheerfully as she spoke.

"Robyn, hi."

"I..." For once, she seemed lost for words. Her gaze flitted from side to side, hesitant to meet Rita's gaze. Finally, Robyn settled on looking at her feet, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Look," Rita sighed at last. "The last thing I want is for you to be too scared to talk to me, so I'll spell it out for you. I have stage two ovarian cancer. I'm going for treatment, and yes, I will be fine."

Robyn appeared to be dumbfounded for a moment. And then the briefest of smiles flickered across her face. It was a reassuring one - something so very like the young nurse.

"I'm sorry, Rita. I didn't want to make you feel awkward or anything."

"Just forget about it, okay? I'm here to work, not to be pitied." She felt almost like a broken record, the number of times she had said that to people. It would only get worse as the day progressed.

Robyn nodded, looking a little awkward for a few moments before she muttered a quick 'see you later' and disappeared through the front entrance. Rita watched her go, cheerful demeanour slipping from her face before she followed the nurse inside.

* * *

"Are you sure she'll be here? I wouldn't blame her if she stayed well away - not after yesterday." Louise was stood at reception, facing the entrance as she spoke to Noel. Max, Lofty and Ethan had all stopped to listen.

"She's not one to shy away from things," Noel responded with a frown. "Remember after her husband ended up here?"

"Like anyone could forget. But this is different, isn't it?"

"Well..." Noel searched his head for an appropriate response, but he was saved from answering as Robyn hurried over.

"She's here!" The nurse sounded slightly flustered, and fumbled behind the front desk, as if she was looking for something. Louise let out an outraged cry.

"Don't touch anything! You know perfectly well that everything has to be kept in order." Her hands sat nearly at her hips, and she shot a glare at Robyn before adding as an afterthought, "it's in the third drawer down."

The nurse disappeared for a moment as she crouched to open the drawer, but she emerged again seconds later, a sealed envelope of a rather violent shade of purple clasped in her hands.

At that moment, Rita came into view. She approached reception apprehensively, searching the expressions of her friends; Louise appeared to be impassive at first, yet something in her eyes crumbled; Noel was easy to read as always - his brow was furrowed in an open gesture of pity and he stood stiffly, uncertain of what to do with his hands. Rita glanced across at Max and Lofty, who both looked like she was on her deathbed already. And Ethan's mouth was open slightly, almost as if he was about to speak but couldn't quite form the words in his head.

Robyn passed the envelope to Louise, who received it and took a few steps towards the Clinical Nurse Manager. She cleared her throat quietly.

"This is for you. We just want you to know..."

She trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Lofty spoke for her.

"If you ever need anything, Rita, we're all here for you. A- and, we know it must be hard for you."

Rita took the envelope from Louise silently, lips parted slightly. Her eyes were trained carefully downwards as she replied.

"Please don't do this now." She saw Lofty recoil uncomfortably from the corner of her eye. Gaining some confidence, she looked up. Her chocolate gaze scanned over them all, brow creasing.

"Rita..." Robyn said gently, but she shook her head, tongue skimming over her lip briefly.

"I just want to work. That's all."

There was complete silence as she turned to leave, broken only by the click of heels from the opposite direction. Connie had been watching the whole exchange.

"As always, your lack of tact astounds me," she said in a scathing voice, hardly casting any of them a glance as she passed. "Get back to work."

The group were left, stunned into an uncomfortable quietness as the sound of Connie's heels faded down the corridor.

At last, Lofty cleared his throat and shuffled backwards slightly, managing to trip over thin air in his haste to get away. Robyn rolled her eyes, offering a hand to help him up.

"That could have gone better," he commented as he stood, dusting down his uniform.

"You think?" Robyn sighed. "I hope Rita will be okay."

"I reckon she'll be fine," Lofty reassured her, although he didn't sound too convinced. "Come on, Mrs Wright in bed four is due more paracetamol."

"You can sort her out this time. I'm not going in there again if I can help it."

"Oh, fine. But you can buy dinner."

Robyn beamed up at him at the prospect of dinner, her skin flushing pleasantly. "Deal."

* * *

Rita closed the door of her office, leaning against it with a heavy sigh. Her gaze travelled to her desk, where several gift bags and a stack of cards waited for her. She glanced down at the envelope, turning it over in her hands. She knew what it was, and she was terrified of opening it. Still, it couldn't lie sealed forever.

Taking a shuddery breath, she tore at the purple paper. It fell to the floor, leaving the card exposed between her fingers. For a few moments, she studied the illustration. It depicted an overly smiley ginger doctor in watercolour, the strokes delicate against the pale blue background. The words 'get well soon' were printed across the top in an arch, and Rita couldn't help but cringe at the sentiment.

She opened the card to view the inside. Her stomach turned at the sheer quantity of text; it would seem that everyone in the department had written her a small paragraph, no doubt expressing their deepest sympathy and well-wishes. The phrases "positive attitude" and "inspiration to the whole of the ED" jumped out at her, and she closed the card quickly, going to place it on her desk. Her stomach turned. She felt sick.

The door burst open and she straightened, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth and drawing in a breath to compose herself she turned around.

"Do people not knock anymo-" she broke off as she realised that the Clinical Lead had entered the room. "Oh. Connie."

"Are you alright?" The older woman sounded distant, and there was a distracted look in her eye as her gaze wandered the room.

"I'm fine," Rita responded curtly. She wouldn't admit it, but she was more than a little taken aback by Connie's open display of concern.

"The card. I didn't realise they were going to..."

"No, no, it's... It was very thoughtful of them."

"But not what you needed," Connie said, lowering her head slightly and studying the gifts on the desk.

"No," Rita admitted, turning fully and wrapping her arms around her chest.

"How did they find out?"

"Lofty found the letter. It must've fallen out of my pocket."

There was a brief silence. Connie's lips parted and Rita's brow furrowed as she tried to discern the expression behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry," the Clinical Lead said at last, her voice quiet. "I didn't think when I wrote it. I should have emailed you."

"It wasn't your fault," Rita replied with a shrug. "They were always going to find out anyway."

Connie's phone vibrated and she let out a frustrated sigh, digging it out from her pocket and glancing at the screen. Her gaze softened considerably. Rita frowned at the sudden change in expression; all the hard lines had faded from the older woman's face within a matter of seconds. She looked much younger when she wasn't being so uptight.

"Grace?" She guessed, voice quiet.

Connie just nodded, running her tongue briefly over her lower lip.

"You should answer it."

A pause.

"Thank you," came the almost inaudible reply, accompanied by a subtle smile.

It was, Rita thought as the door closed and she was left alone, one of the first times she had seen Connie smile at her. A warm feeling spread across her lower stomach; it was a nice change, after all.


	7. Nyctophobia

The date of Rita's operation loomed ever closer, and she developed a permanent knot in her abdomen that had nothing to do with the tumour. She found herself becoming withdrawn, despite constant efforts on her colleagues' part to keep her occupied. Her office at work had become the only place where she could get any form of peace and quiet, and even then she was interrupted every fifteen minutes by one of the nurses, or by Connie.

That was another thing - the Clinical Lead occasionally started conversations with her for no particular reason. It perplexed Rita, who was used to nothing but the cold shoulder. Still, Connie managed to talk without tripping over her words, and it was clear that she wasn't too worried of causing involuntary offence. She was one of the only people who saw Rita for what she was, and not as the cancer.

Three days before the day of her operation, the Clinical Nurse Manager was sat at her desk, an ever growing pile of papers stacked before her.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called tiredly, dropping her pen.

She didn't even need to look up; the sound of heels alerted her to Connie's presence.

"RTA?" She guessed with a weary sigh. It would be the third that day.

"Actually, I'm on a break," came the reply. Rita glanced up, surprised.

"Visits from you in your spare time? This is new," she remarked. A teasing tone had involuntarily crept into her voice.

Connie raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well, there are a few things we need to clear up."

"Such as...?"

"Your hysterectomy. I take it Dr Martins has gone through the details with you?"

"Yeah."

"And you are aware of the implications?"

"If you mean that I'll be a menopausal bitch afterwards, then yes, I'm fully aware of that."

Connie winced visibly. There was a drawn out moment where neither woman said a word. And then the Clinical Lead spoke again, her voice impossibly soft.

"Did you want children, Rita?"

Rita hadn't been expecting that. She recoiled, eyes going round as she met Connie's inquisitive stare. Then she pursed her lips, thinking hard about her reply.

"I... Well, yes. Mark and I..." She ran her tongue over her lower lip to dampen it before recovering the statement. "Mark and I always wanted children. We said that as soon as I'd settled into my nursing position at my last hospital we'd give it a go. And then the drinking started. And the online stuff. And finally the arrest."

Rita's nose twitched as she sniffed, and she blinked hard a few times before she continued.

"Anyway, it never happened. And there's not much chance of it happening at all, even without the hysterectomy. I'm not as young as I was, and I doubt I'm going to meet anyone."

Connie's expression was hard to read, but her eyes were directed at the floor.

"I've got my work," Rita concluded quietly when she didn't answer at first. The words sounded false. She had said them before, and thought them - too many times.

"Listen," Connie began, checking the time on her phone. "I've got a very long and probably very dull meeting with Guy in about five minutes so I can't stay. But would you like to get a drink after your shift? I can't say I've ever performed a hysterectomy myself but I've observed numerous times. I could take you through the procedure if you like."

Rita looked stunned for a moment. That was something she certainly hadn't expected. "I didn't think the Hope and Anchor was your scene."

"It's not, usually."

After a brief pause, a smile crept onto Rita's face. "You're buying."

"Oh, of course."

* * *

The sun was setting over the ED by the time Rita's final shift drew to a close. She made her way out of Resus, nodding blearily to Tess as she peeled off her gloves and deposited them in the bin. Her patient was stable, and a porter had been called to transfer him to Intensive Care.

"Long day?" Tess guessed with a knowing smile.

"Oh, Tess, you don't know the half of it."

"Go and put your feet up," she advised, closing her file and moving around to the computer. "And you didn't hear this from me, but a little alcohol probably wouldn't go amiss."

Rita gave her a look that was half way between amusement and surprise. "Are you or are you not an advocate for public health?"

The only response she received was a 'ssh' and a tap of the nose before Tess hurried away. Bemused, she watched her go, before making her way to the locker room to retrieve her clothes.

Rita changed quickly, taking a moment to study her reflection in the mirror. As usual, she had dressed casually that morning, donning her brown leather jacket and jeans. She hadn't even considered going for a drink that evening, and so she had put less effort into her appearance than usual. Rita tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, frowning as a spot on her temple caught her attention. She ran her thumb over the raised skin gently, brow furrowing even more.

"Acne is one of the symptoms," a voice sounded from the doorway and she jumped, turning away in embarrassment and pretending to be absorbed in gathering her belongings.

"Connie. I didn't think you'd be out so soon."

"Neither did I. As it happens, Guy is either seeing someone or he's suddenly developed a taste for women's perfume. As soon as I brought it up he became very flustered and excused himself."

Rita's lips quirked upwards into a coy smile; she did admire that about Connie, no matter how profusely she would deny it in person - the woman was never afraid to speak her mind.

"Are you ready?"

The younger woman turned to reply, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Yes. I'm dying for a drink."

"Oh, that's a rather unfortunate choice of words, don't you think?"

Rita was taken aback by the statement, but she laughed despite herself. Connie's tone was peculiar - if she didn't know better, she'd be inclined to say the Clinical Lead sounded flirtatious.

"They do say that working in a hospital makes you morbid," she returned, approaching the doorway. Connie smirked, simply turning on her heel and starting down the corridor.

* * *

The Hope and Anchor was considerably quieter than usual as the two women chose a seat in the corner. A group of band 5 nurses gave them a curious look, but as soon as Connie passed by they returned to their drinks.

"I'll go and order," she said briskly, withdrawing her purse. Rita nodded, taking a seat and watching as the other woman made her way over to the bar. She was left to her own thoughts for a while.

It was so unlike the Connie she knew to act like this. For whatever reason, the Clinical Lead was being entirely civil towards her. She wondered briefly if it was because of the cancer; that seemed like the most likely explanation. And yet she hadn't expected Connie to start acting nicely purely out of sympathy. Not to her, of all people.

Ever since Mark had wound up in the ED, Connie had held a grudge against Rita. And the situation with Grace certainly didn't help. But he had done nothing wrong, so as far as Rita was aware, the contempt she was used to was entirely unsolicited.

That still didn't answer her question.

Her thought process was interrupted as a wine glass was placed delicately before her. Rita looked up, a smile gracing her features.

"Thank you."

Connie took her seat on the chair opposite and studied Rita subtly, fingers lacing around the neck of her own glass. One fingernail tapped quietly at the side.

"There is the matter of who will accompany you to surgery," she spoke at last, swilling the deep red wine and lowering her gaze to watch it.

"I didn't realise that was necessary," came Rita's reply.

"It is advised. Just in case."

"Oh... Well, there isn't really anyone who'll be around at that time of day..."

"As it happens," Connie said slowly, lifting her eyes from the rim of her glass and fixing Rita with an unreadable stare, "I'm working the night shift that day, so I will be able to go with you. If you like."

"I..." Rita frowned, falling silent and thinking before she spoke again. "Don't you want to catch up on sleep? Or paperwork?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Sister Freeman?" Connie smirked, lifting the wine to her lips and taking a brief sip.

For some reason, Rita felt her cheeks burn, and took a long drink from her own glass. At last, she placed it down upon the table.

"Thank you, Connie. That would be nice."

Satisfied, the Clinical Lead crossed her legs and withdrew her phone from her pocket.

"Good. Now, about this hysterectomy..."

* * *

An hour and a few glasses of wine later, the last of the dusky light was beginning to fade outside of the pub window. It was much busier than before, and most of the tables were occupied. Rita's laugh sounded from the corner.

"So then I listed his nicknames - Henrik Hitler, Bjorn the Slasher, the lot of them - and told him that I was resigning. And that was that."

Rita was almost in tears of laughter as Connie finished her story, and she wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, placing down her now-empty glass. At some point the two women's chairs had ended up next to each other, and they were close enough for their elbows to brush at the movement.

"I can't believe you called Henrik Hanssen a depressing- what was it?"

"A depressing giant swede," Connie too was barely containing her laughter, and she seemed much too relaxed given her current surroundings. The alcohol had certainly loosened her tongue, Rita noticed blearily, her own intoxicated mind stumbling to get to that particular conclusion.

"He sounds worse than Guy Self," she mused with a small hiccough.

"He was more tolerable, actually. Sometimes he seemed like he did actually care. Most of the time, though, any sort of emotion petrified him."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Rita said pointedly, the statement slipping through her weakened sense of self-censorship. Connie met her gaze, something stirring behind her green-brown eyes.

"You think I'm emotionless?" The Clinical Lead questioned softly.

"Can you blame me? Every time someone gets close to you, you push them away!"

Rita had been looking down at her hands, and now she raised her gaze tentatively to gauge Connie's expression. In her drunken state she couldn't discern what the older woman was thinking, although it looked like she might either shout or burst into tears.

What happened next was completely unexpected.

Connie's gaze flitted down, her eyelashes fluttering in the brief movement. She seemed to lean closer, and almost instinctively, Rita mimicked her.

She was close enough to count every single freckle across the older woman's cheeks, and her eyes explored them for the briefest of moments before they were drawn towards Connie's lips, which were ever so slightly parted and tinted red from the wine. Rita wondered if she would be able to taste it if they were to kiss.

This was mad.

Her heart raced as she closed the small distance between them, pressing her lips to Connie's. For the briefest of moments, neither of them moved. And then she responded.

Signing softly, Connie threaded one hand through Rita's hair, scraping her nails delicately along the blonde's scalp as she pulled her deeper into the kiss. The noise of the pub was replaced by the pounding of blood in her ears. She felt a hand at the nape of her neck, drawing her closer still. Rita's lips moved softly against hers and she furrowed her brow, tongue slipping between them. She could taste the bitterness of wine on the nurse's breath and it suddenly occurred to her that they were both far too intoxicated, probably leading to the intensity of the kiss.

Realisation seemed to hit them both at the same time, and they jerked away from each other, Connie's hand tugging at the blonde woman's hair in her haste. Rita's cheeks were flushed, either from insufficient oxygen intake during the kiss or from abject humiliation. Her hair was dishevelled and Connie noted with a sense of mortification that a few pale locks were still looped around her fingers. She pursed her lips, uncertain of what to say.

"I... I should go," Rita said at last, standing and moving away from the Clinical Lead as she gathered her bag.

Connie said nothing, just watched as she murmured a hasty 'thank you' and headed straight for the door.

Perhaps it was the influence of alcohol, but the weight in her chest felt lighter than it had in a long time.


	8. Narcosis

The following day, Rita awoke with the mother of all hangovers. For the first twenty minutes of her shift she sat in her office, a pint of water clasped in one hand and a packet of paracetamol in the other. She couldn't even summon the energy to get up and close the blinds, leaving the other nurses free to gossip.

"From what I've seen, Mrs Beauchamp is in a similar way," Lofty commented quietly to a giggling Robyn.

"You think they were together?" She shifted her gaze to him, eyebrows raising.

"Well, it's too much of a coincidence, isn't it? And Paula said that she saw them in the Hope and Anchor."

"Who's Paula?"

"That porter. But-"

"How old is she?"

"In her twenties, I think. Does it matter?" Lofty suddenly sounded very uncomfortable.

"Yes, it does. When did you speak to her?"

"I overheard her talking to Max this morning on the way in."

There was a brief silence. "Oh," Robyn said, somewhat relieved.

"Well, anyway, Charlie reckons that they've settled their differences at last. And this is just a rumour, but apparently Mrs Beauchamp's working the night shift on the day of Rita's hysterectomy."

"So?"

"So, she'll be free when she goes into surgery, won't she?"

"Oh..." Robyn's eyes widened. "You don't think..."

"Well Rita's had loads of guys come on to her, and how many times has she turned them down?"

"Every single time. But her husband's a convicted sex offender - it's got to put you off blokes for a while at least, surely."

"Oh come on, Robyn. She's probably-"

"Are you two quite finished gossiping?" An icy voice spoke from behind them, and they both froze. Robyn turned slowly, swallowing. The Clinical Lead herself was stood right there, arms folded.

"Mrs Beauchamp! We were just..."

"I know what you were doing, and I think you should both get back to work before Sister Freeman decides to discipline you." Her gaze wandered to the Clinical Nurse Manager's office and she sighed. "Although given her current state of wellbeing, I find it highly doubtful that she has the ability to discipline anyone."

Robyn bit her lip to conceal an amused smile, and busied herself with sorting through a stack of files on the desk. She cast a subtle glance up at Lofty, who was making a hasty retreat towards the cubicles. There was a loud crash as he tripped over a bucket, and Robyn suppressed a giggle.

Beside her, the Clinical Lead tutted, snapping her folder shut in frustration and making her way over to the door of Rita's office.

The nurse in question was popping another paracetamol capsule from its packet as the door opened. She stiffened as she noticed Connie, and swept a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.

"Good morning, Sister Freeman."

"Connie, about last night..."

"Some of your nursing staff are getting a little ahead of themselves," the Clinical Lead interrupted briskly. "Sort them out. This is a hospital, not a farmyard."

Rita was taken aback, and she stared at Connie for a few moments in disbelief.

"That is all," she continued, turning to leave. Rita stood, head spinning at the sudden movement.

"Wait," she said, grimacing as her head throbbed painfully.

Connie turned her head to the side, gaze fixed on the floor. "What is it?"

"The kiss. It was... Well, it-"

"It was a drunken mistake," came the blunt reply. "And it won't happen again. Nothing's changed."

Rita pursed her lips, unsure of how she felt about that. "Right... Well..."

Connie's phone buzzed, and the Clinical Lead rolled her eyes, withdrawing it from her pocket. Her eyes scanned the screen briefly before she spoke again. "We've got a stabbing. ETA five minutes. Sober yourself up; I want you in Resus."

"Okay."

Nothing else was said as Connie left the room. Deep in thought, Rita swallowed the paracetamol capsule, taking a large sip of water with it. As much as she wanted to forget the kiss, she couldn't take her mind off it. It wasn't like she hadn't kissed a woman before - on the contrary, she had always been a little adventurous with her sexuality. It was oddly reminiscent of the kiss she'd shared with Dixie, but at the same time it was too different to even consider. Dixie was her friend, and Connie... Well, Connie was little more than an acquaintance. Perhaps that was why she felt so curiously about it.

Yes, Rita thought firmly to herself as she made her way to the door, head only spinning slightly. There was no more to it than that.

* * *

The morning of her operation finally arrived, and Rita was awoken by a knock at the door. She sat up, rubbing at the corner of her eyes blearily before making her way to the hall to answer it.

"Good morning."

Rita pulled a face, squinting against the light streaming in from the outside corridor. "Connie?"

"You look a mess," came the indifferent reply as the older woman stepped past her. Rita frowned, closing the door.

"I didn't sleep well, funnily enough. Why are you here?"

"I've come to take you to hospital."

Rita glanced down at her watch, eyebrows raising. "It's six o'clock in the morning. My operation isn't 'til half nine."

"Well, you'd better get dressed then, quickly."

The Clinical Nurse Manager could feel Connie's eyes move quickly down her body, and she felt slightly embarrassed about the blue and grey Winnie the Pooh pyjamas she was wearing. She searched Connie's expression, expecting to see veiled contempt there. Surprisingly, the Clinical Lead's mouth was twisted up in amusement.

"Nice slippers," was all she said, folding her arms. Rita glanced down, suppressing a groan as she realised she was wearing the particularly gaudy rabbit head pair that Dylan had bought her for Secret Santa.

"Don't let Dylan hear you say that or you'll end up with your own pair."

As she retreated back down the hall to her room, she heard Connie chuckle and smiled to herself. It was a rare sound, after all.

Rita emerged five minutes later, dressed simply in jeans and a jumper. She made her way through to the kitchen, where Connie was leaning against the counter. Rita cast her a curious glance before she reached for the cupboard to retrieve a mug.

"You're supposed to be Nil by Mouth."

"I know," came her blunt response. "I was getting you a drink, actually. Tea or coffee?"

Connie looked momentarily stunned at the gesture. "Er, tea... please. Milk, one sugar."

Rita nodded, turning her back on Connie as she flicked the switch on the kettle. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Well I said I would."

"Yes, but..."

"Look, what happened at the pub doesn't affect anything. You're my colleague, we work together, that is all."

The light on the kettle dimmed and the switch flicked upwards as it bubbled. Rita poured the boiled water into the mug whilst she thought of something else to say, fumbling in the drawer for a teabag.

"Besides, you need to focus on getting rid of this tumour. It's not going to be easy, but hopefully you should be sorted and ready to return to work by next year." Connie had continued to speak in light of her silence. "Until then, we can get Charlie and Tess to split your duties, and get a locum nurse in if necessary."

Rita held out the mug to the Clinical Lead, pressing her lips together. Connie must have noticed her expression, for she stopped speaking and furrowed her brow.

"What? What is it?"

"I don't want to leave work."

Her gaze softened. "Oh. Rita, you can't work in the ED whilst you're going through chemotherapy. You know very well that your immune system won't be able to deal with being around so many people."

"Yeah," Rita protested, "but my job is all I have left, Connie. I can't leave it!"

"Don't be so stubborn. Don't you have any family to look after you?"

"Just my dad," the blonde's gaze lowered, her voice impossibly gentle. "We lost touch after Mark... Well, let's just say he never really liked him that much."

Connie nodded, eyes never leaving the nurse. "I'll sort it, don't worry. Now, have you packed your stuff?"

"It's by the door."

Connie drained the last of her tea and placed the mug by the sink. "Right then. Time to go."

Rita didn't speak as she left the room, hands balled into fists by her side. Connie watched, eyes round. Her lips parted ever so slightly as if she were about to speak, but after a brief pause she shook her head and followed the younger woman out of the kitchen.

* * *

The first thing Rita noticed about the ward was its quietness. It was completely different to the clamour and life she was so used to in the ED. As soon as she arrived, she was given a gown to wear and then she signed the consent form. All the while, Connie kept her distance, flicking idly through the camera roll on her phone as Rita was prepped for theatre.

At last, they were left alone for a few minutes, and the Clinical Lead approached her bedside. She seemed to be apprehensive, and Rita couldn't help but notice how she twisted her fingers together in front of her - no doubt a subtle expression of her anxiousness.

"Are you nervous?" Connie asked at last.

"I've seen hundreds of people go for surgery. I know I'm in safe hands." Nevertheless, there was a slight tremor in Rita's voice. Connie chose to ignore it.

"I'll probably be here when you get back. Not that it will cheer you up in the slightest."

Rita laughed in a short puff of air, lowering her gaze to the catheter protruding from her hand. It was strange - they hadn't exchanged a single rude word that morning. Come to think of it, she couldn't think of the last time Connie had been anything less than civil towards her.

A comfortable silence fell between them, and neither spoke again until the porter arrived to take her to surgery. Rita suddenly felt quite sick, and took a few slow breaths to calm herself.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Connie said quietly, placing her hand on the blonde's arm. Her fingers lingered delicately there for a few seconds. Rita blinked, slightly confused as she met the older woman's gaze. A million questions raced through her mind, but she settled on just one.

"Why are you doing this, Connie?"

The Clinical Lead exhaled, glancing away before she replied.

"Someone has to care."


	9. Intractability

Connie sat in the cafeteria at noon, fingers wrapped around a double espresso. She couldn't bring herself to eat anything for some reason. Her fingers tapped aimlessly at the screen of her phone, opening different apps and flicking through them for a while before closing them. She didn't find anything at all worthwhile to occupy her time.

Was she worried about Rita? Of course she wasn't. The idea was laughable; until a few weeks ago they had been rivals. And yet in the days leading up to her operation they had become quite close. Or closer than they had been, at least.

It wasn't like Connie at all to get close to people. But Rita was there everywhere she went, and it was necessary to speak to her frequently at work - cooperation between the doctors and nursing staff was essential for the department, after all. Truth be told, she did often enjoy the petty arguments they would have at work. Recently they had exchanged fewer and fewer unkind words and the constant snapping had become more of a game. Connie couldn't resist it.

She raised the cup to her lips, sipping at the bitter drink as she thought.

"Excuse me? Mrs Beauchamp, isn't it?"

Connie looked up to see a young nurse stood by her table, hands clasped in front of her body.

"Yes."

"Your friend woke up about fifteen minutes ago. The surgery was successful, and she's expected to be discharged in a matter of days. I can take you through the details of recovery, if you like."

Connie let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "No, no, that won't be necessary. Can I see her? Please?"

"Of course," the nurse replied, bobbing her head. "Follow me."

The Clinical Lead stood, discarding her cup as she headed after her. There was a strange feeling in her stomach that she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't wholly unpleasant, just new.

The nurse stopped at the end of the corridor to open a door, and spoke briefly with a colleague who was emerging from the room.

"Right through here," she said kindly to Connie. "She's asleep again, but you're welcome to sit with her for a while."

Connie nodded and stepped through the doorway, pausing to observe the room. There was only one occupied bed, so the curtains hung open. A mess of blonde hair was just visible from where she stood and beyond that, a web of wires, leading to various different sources and no doubt providing all sorts of essential bodily fluids. It was a familiar scene to the former cardiothoracic surgeon.

Connie made her way through the room slowly, footsteps light as if she was scared of waking the younger woman. As she reached the bedside, she noticed how Rita's chest rose and fell steadily with each breath. She couldn't help but think how small and fragile the blonde woman looked in the bed. Her eyes were closed, giving her a peaceful expression free from any contempt or anger. In fact, she seemed almost angelic, with her fair hair framing her face, and her lips slightly parted as she slept.

Connie's cheeks felt warm, and she busied herself with assessing Rita's vital signs. Her gaze flitted to the screen, taking in the numbers. The Clinical Nurse Manager's pulse was steady, and for a few moments she watched the line jump up and down, somewhat reassured by its regularity. Then she nodded to herself, satisfied, before moving to the end of the bed to retrieve the clipboard of her notes and flick through them.

The sheets moved as Rita stirred, and Connie looked up. The woman's chocolate eyes opened slowly, and she blinked several times before she seemed to register the Clinical Lead's presence.

"Hey," Connie spoke, voice impossibly soft. "How are you feeling?"

"Knackered," came the barely audible response. A smile creased the corner of the Clinical Lead's eyes. She knew from experience that the effects of general anaesthetic were physically draining, and Rita wasn't likely to be awake for long.

"The surgery went well. Are you in pain at all?"

"No," Rita replied, glancing down at her fingers as she moved them experimentally. "I just feel numb."

"That'll be the spinal block. You should be fine until tomorrow at least."

"I didn't realise you were treating me," Rita's tone was teasing, and she nodded at the clipboard Connie was holding. The Clinical Lead smirked, placing the notes back down at the end of the bed.

"Yes, well it certainly brings back memories of my days in cardiothoracics."

Rita stared at Connie. She was too tired to try and hide her expression, so it was openly curious.

"What's that look for?"

"Sometimes I forget you were a surgeon before you came to the ED, that's all."

Connie smiled, taking a seat at the side of Rita's bed. "It was a long time ago. The salary was a lot more generous, I'm not going to deny that, but I do have a soft spot for emergency medicine."

Rita nodded. There was a brief silence between them, broken only by the faint voices of nurses at the other end of the corridor.

"How long was I out?" The younger woman asked at last.

"About three and a half hours."

Rita pulled a face. "They said it would only be three."

"Feel free to lodge a complaint. I'm sure they'd take it very seriously." Connie's mouth quirked up in a smile, and her expression was mimicked by the younger woman. "Is there anything you need?"

"Some water would be nice," came the quiet reply. "There's a glass on the table."

Connie nodded, leaning across the bed to reach for the glass. Rita felt her cheeks grow warm as the Clinical Lead's hair brushed across her chest. A sweet scent clung to it, which she identified as sandalwood. It was a rich, warm scent, and it struck Rita as odd. For some reason she had always imagined that Connie would have a colder, harsher smell.

Not that she imagined what Connie smelled like often, of course.

Rita was quite flustered when Connie moved back, the glass in her hand. The Clinical Lead adjusted the bed so that she was in a more upright position, and lifted the water to her lips. Rita took a few sips obediently, not bothering to mention that she was perfectly capable of holding the glass herself; for the meantime she was content to let Connie wait on her.

"I got in touch with your father," the older woman sounded vaguely uncomfortable as she brought it up.

"There was no need for that, Connie. He made it quite clear last time we spoke that he wants nothing more to do with me."

"He sounded very concerned. Rita, he offered to look after you in Manchester whilst you go through chemotherapy."

"He told me he didn't want to see me again." Rita's gaze was fixed on the wall opposite her bed. Connie thought she looked a lot like a dejected child at that moment, and recognised her expression from when Grace was upset with her and would refrain from speaking for a couple of hours.

"You can't go through this on your own. You need someone to care for you. Whatever happened between you and your father in the past doesn't matter now."

Rita didn't reply. Her brows furrowed slightly.

"Look, it's all sorted. You can go and live with him until the chemotherapy is finished and you can return to work. I've had Dr Martins agree to transfer your notes to Wythenshawe. Your father really does want this. He sounded desperate, Rita."

"I'm tired," came the sullen response. Connie sighed.

"Alright, I'll leave you to sleep. Just... Think about it, please? You can't possibly manage by yourself over the next few months."

There was no reply - Rita had closed her eyes. Connie pursed her lips. She would approach the subject again the next day.

Heart a little lighter for knowing that the Clinical Nurse Manager was okay, she made her way quietly out of the room, just as the nurse from before entered for observation. They exchanged a small smile, saying nothing as each continued on their way.

* * *

When Connie returned the next day, Rita was in a foul mood.

"I take it the spinal block's worn off," she commented mildly.

The blonde woman was lying down, eyes trained on the ceiling. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

"I'll ask the nurse for more pain relief." Connie placed her hand over Rita's as she spoke, a gesture that was intended to reassure the younger woman. It only succeeded in irritating her further.

"I'm fine. Stop babying me, Connie."

"Good lord you're difficult."

Rita rolled her eyes, moving her hand away and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want to sit up."

"No you don't." Connie sighed, frustration edging into her tone.

Rita directed a glare at her before gripping the edge of the bed and attempting to heave herself into an upright position. Her face contorted in pain, and she released her grip, gasping at the sensations that shot to her abdomen. "No," she managed, blinking quickly to discourage the tears springing to her eyes. "I don't."

All the while Connie watched, eyes round with sympathy. She knew Rita's anger was only down to her impatience. It was not at her, for once. When the other woman fell silent she took a seat at the end of the bed.

"You need to take things one step at a time." Her voice had softened considerably, and Rita pouted. For the second time in two days, Connie was reminded of her daughter.

"I just feel so useless lying here."

"I know, but pushing yourself too hard is only going to make things worse." The Clinical Lead paused, hesitant to continue. "Have you thought any more about going to live with your father?"

Rita didn't reply at first. She lowered her gaze, lips pressing together. "When Mark and I got married, my dad refused to attend the wedding. He said from the moment we met that I was too good for him and that I deserved better. I don't think he could stand the idea of giving his daughter away to a PE teacher, so he just didn't show up."

Connie tilted her head, watching her with round eyes. She got the feeling that Rita didn't open up to people very often, so it was a somewhat humbling experience.

"Anyway, we managed for a few years. I didn't go to visit him very often, only when Mark was away with the school. And... And then the accusation was brought forwards. Dad told me that he expected nothing less, and offered to house me whilst I arranged a divorce. But I believed Mark was innocent, and I stood up for him in court in front of everyone. So he told me to never speak to him again."

After she'd finished speaking, Rita looked up at Connie through her lashes, vision blurred with unshed tears. She half expected the Clinical Lead to turn away in disgust after what she'd said about defending Mark in court.

But, not for the first time, Connie did something completely unexpected.

A curious look in her eyes, the Clinical Lead reached forwards and brushed a few strands of hair out of Rita's eyes, her fingers skimming along the younger woman's forehead. She drew back again almost immediately, casting a confused look down at her hands before she spoke again.

"Rita, none of that was your fault. Mark lied. And you loved him - of course you believed him. Your father understands that. Just please, give it a chance."

There was a moment of silence, and then Rita nodded. It was a quick, constrained movement, but it was enough for Connie.

"Okay. Well I should get going. My shift starts in ten minutes."

"Wait," Rita held out her hand, fingers closing around the Clinical Lead's wrist.

Surprised, Connie halted. "What is it?"

The Clinical Nurse Manager offered a small smile, a faint blush gracing her cheeks.

"I just wanted to say thank you."

* * *

Rita spent the next few days recovering her strength as Connie had suggested, eventually feeling healed enough to sit up. It was only a matter of time before she could walk again, albeit slowly. Every step felt like a stab in the abdomen, but it was apparently normal after surgery of that nature for women to struggle with movement. Besides, Connie visited frequently and would entertain her by keeping her updated on the goings on in the department. She had grown to quite enjoy the Clinical Lead's company over the past few weeks, a fact that both surprised and disturbed her to some extent.

"Miss Freeman," one of the nurses poked her head through the curtain one morning. "You have a visitor."

"She can come straight in," Rita said with a yawn, closing her magazine and placing it down on the side table. She presumed naturally that Connie was the visitor in question.

"Erm, Mrs Beauchamp has a man with her. She says it's your father?"

Everything seemed to stop for a moment, and the blonde woman swallowed. She hadn't expected him at all, despite what Connie had said. She was under the impression that she would be travelling up to Manchester to stay with him.

The nurse cleared her throat anxiously. "Miss Freeman?"

"Um, yes, sorry. Send them both through. Please."

Rita took a few breaths as the nurse ducked out of the cubicle, and ran her fingers through her hair, slightly self conscious of the fact that it hadn't been washed for a few days. It was a trivial thing to worry about when she hadn't seen her father for a number of years, yet she couldn't bear to think of the larger concerns just yet.

Connie entered first. The Clinical Lead took a seat by Rita's bed, giving her a reassuring smile and resting a hand on the younger woman's arm.

"Don't worry, Rita."

"I'm not worried," came the stubborn response.

Connie sighed, gaze flickering down to where her hand touched Rita's skin. Her thumb traced small circles there absent mindedly as they waited. She didn't believe that Rita wasn't worried for a second; the blonde was an open book to her, and it was surprisingly easy to work out how she was feeling. Connie could sympathise to some extent - her relationship with her own father had often been rocky.

The curtains rustled and both women looked up at the same time as Rita's father entered the room. He was a relatively short man with greying hair and kindly blue eyes that seemed to observe much more than was expected of an elderly man.

A thick silence pervaded the room as father and daughter stared at each other. Connie simply watched, not wanting to disrupt the moment and so retreating to her own thoughts again.

Rita's father made his way slowly to the bedside opposite the Clinical Lead, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the cubicle.

Then, at last, Rita spoke, her voice hoarse.

"Dad."

And the elderly man smiled, his wizened eyes creasing as he reached down to cover her hand with his.

Connie's gaze softened. Everything was going to be okay after all.


	10. Eros I

"So..." Connie stood over a case of clothes, her shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. She was slightly out of breath from the energy it had taken to help Rita pack up her belongings, and a flush had settled across her cheeks, forming an agreeable contrast with the freckles there.

The blonde was positioned nearby, kneeling on another case in an attempt to close it. She huffed as a trouser leg fell out, pushing back a few stray locks of hair. Connie watched, a smile playing on her lips.

"Need some help?"

"No, I can manage-" the second trouser leg fell out and Rita sank to the floor with a disgruntled 'hmph.'

"Oh really?" Connie gave her a disbelieving look, picking her way over amongst the strewn belongings to delicately fold the trousers back into the case herself.

Rita pouted, watching as the older woman effortlessly zipped it up and dusted her hands down on her skirt afterwards.

"Simple," Connie stated with a smirk.

"I suppose it comes with age," came the wicked reply, and the Clinical Lead looked outraged for a second. Her voice dropped an octave.

"Sister Freeman, what exactly are you implying?"

"Age is nothing to be ashamed of, Connie," Rita said, adopting a similar tone to the one she used for elderly patients in the ED. "It happens to us all." She pressed her lips together to conceal a grin.

The Clinical Lead said nothing in reply, just hurled a sock at Rita, and both woman dissolved into laughter as it hit her square in the face before falling into her lap.

Rita broke off a moment later with a gasp, fingers jumping to her abdomen. She pulled a pained face, and Connie's brow furrowed. The hysterectomy had only been a few weeks ago, and it was evident that she was still hurting from it.

"Paracetamol?" She prompted.

"Yeah, I'll get it," Rita said, getting carefully to her feet. "Do you want a drink?"

"Tea, please-"

"Milk, one sugar?"

Connie raised an eyebrow, a smile forming on her lips. "Well remembered."

Rita shrugged, her cheeks colouring lightly. "I'll be back in a minute."

The Clinical Lead watched as she left before returning to the suitcase. There was still a lot of stuff to pack, and frankly she wasn't sure where Rita even kept half of the belongings that were scattered across the floor of the bedroom. Connie had never thought of her as a disorganised woman, but she was beginning to have second thoughts.

She unzipped the front pocket of the suitcase in front of her and frowned as something inside it caught her attention. Leaning closer, she lifted the flap of material to investigate the contents.

There was a small, squarish envelope tucked inside the pocket. It was slightly yellowed at the edges, indicating its age, and she guessed that it had been in the case for several years. Connie glanced in the direction of the doorway; Rita was still busy in the kitchen, and was unlikely to return for a few minutes at least. Curiosity getting the better of her, she took the envelope in her hands and turned it over to open it. A small, metal loop fell out into her palm.

A wedding ring. It was delicately crafted from gold, the two ends twisting as they met, coming to rest around a small, bluish stone. Connie turned it over carefully between her fingers, tongue skimming over her lower lip. She had no doubt that this was the ring Mark had presented to Rita when they married. She could understand, in a sense, why it had not been sold or even thrown away. It was obvious from the last time they were together at the ED that Rita still loved Mark, despite everything he had done. And Connie thought for the first time about how much it must hurt to love someone so terrible.

She had blamed Rita for Mark's actions. It was something she was deeply ashamed of - so much had changed since then, after all. Now, she felt much differently about the Clinical Nurse Manager. It was not dissimilar to the way she felt towards Grace, but at the same time it seemed wrong to compare the two relationships.

The sound of footsteps outside the door jerked Connie out of her thoughts, and she tipped the ring back into the envelope, stuffing it through the zip opening of the suitcase before Rita could see. It was highly personal, after all, and she couldn't be sure how the other woman would react.

"Here you are," Rita's voice was warm as she entered the room and presented Connie with a mug. The Clinical Lead muttered a 'thank you', blowing gently over the rim as Rita continued to speak. "My dad'll be here soon to pick me up. He'll go spare when he sees how much packing I've got left to do."

"I'm sorry," Connie said suddenly.

Rita frowned, taking a seat on the floor again. "It's not your fault. I'm glad you came to help; it's been-"

"No, not that," came the quiet interjection. Connie's eyes were trained on the mug in her hands. "I'm sorry about all the things I've said to you. About Mark, and about your capability as a nurse. You didn't deserve that at all."

"Oh." Rita frowned, and she stared down at the suitcase in front of her. There was a moment where neither of them spoke, and Connie waited in apprehension for the argument that would inevitably be sparked by her words. She was surprised as the blonde shrugged, collecting a pair of socks together in her hands.

"Well, you had a lot to think about. With Grace and everything."

"There is no excuse." Connie murmured in response.

Both women fell silent. Rita didn't know quite what to say, so it came as a relief to her when the doorbell rang.

"Shit, that'll be dad," she muttered.

"I- erm, I should go," Connie spoke, getting to her feet. She felt somewhat foolish, having just spoken so openly.

"Connie, wait."

The doorbell rang again.

"It's on the latch, dad!" Rita called, running her fingers through her hair. She stood and took a few steps closer to the other woman. "Look... What happened between us, it's in the past. You don't need to apologise."

Connie lowered her gaze, a small smile gracing her features. "Thank you."

"Well, we both made mistakes," came the gentle reply. There was the sound of footsteps on the hall, and they subconsciously shifted away from each other. Rita's father peered around the door.

"Oh," he said as he laid eyes on Connie. "Mrs Beauchamp, I didn't expect you to be here."

"I'm just helping Rita finish her packing," she explained, twisting her fingers together in front of her body. She felt almost like a teenager under the scrutiny of his gaze. It was a ridiculous notion, but one that was justified completely by the mess around them.

His eyes scanned the floor, taking in the piles of unpacked clothing. "Yes, it looks that way."

A blush spread across Rita's cheeks, and she avoided Connie's gaze as he continued to speak. "Anyway, I'll leave you both to it. We're going in half an hour, Reets, whether you're ready or not."

The blonde let out a resigned puff of air as he left. "I have so much left to do."

"Maybe you should have spent less time bullying me about my age," Connie said, a petulant tone to her voice.

"Bullying? Oh, Mrs Beauchamp, we all have to put up with a bit of harmless teasing from time to time."

"People who tease me generally live to regret it."

"We'll see about that." During their exchange, the two women had once again moved closer to each other, and both became aware of it at the same time. Rita glanced up through her lashes at the Clinical Lead, her playful demeanour slipping slightly. The relationship they shared was unlike anything she'd ever experienced; just a month ago she had hated this woman with every fibre of her being. And now... it was almost like they were friends. But that was impossible - Mrs Beauchamp didn't do friends.

Connie cleared her throat, suddenly adopting a more professional tone. "I really should go."

"Oh," Rita uttered, brow furrowing. "You can stay for another drink if you like."

"No, no, you have to finish packing." She paused, trying to think of the right words. "Just... Take care of yourself. Please." It seemed inadequate in comparison to the rush of emotions inside her, but she wasn't sure how to articulate them exactly.

Rita smiled, expression soft. She knew. "You too, Connie."

And the room was plunged into an indomitable aura of mutual longing as the older woman made her way towards the door; each wanted to speak, but neither could form the right words. There were too many things left unsaid, and for exactly how long they would remain that way, neither knew. All Rita could do was watch as Connie shut the door behind her, too confused to decipher the extent of her own feelings.


	11. Eros II

The Clinical Nurse Manager didn't return until the end of that year. The days were getting shorter and darker, and there seemed to be a perpetual chill in the air, along with a frost that had settled over the whole of Holby.

The ED was relatively quiet, for a change. It was approaching seven o'clock in the morning, and the December darkness showed no signs of abating for another few hours at least. The only signs of life came from the doors, where a few staff members had gathered in a small huddle, braving the cold for the sake of a quick cigarette.

Rita Freeman stood opposite them, gazing up at the building with a definite air of apprehension. Her arms were folded tightly across her leather-clad torso, although the jacket was slightly baggier on her petite frame than it had been eight months ago. She seemed, if possible, even smaller against the darkness of the department's exterior, although a familiar determined light was still present in her eyes.

She started forwards towards the door, the wind catching in her hair. It had been bleached recently, although it was much shorter, closer to the length it had been when Connie had first arrived at the ED.

Connie Beauchamp. Rita would be lying if she said that she no longer thought about the Clinical Lead. In fact, they had kept in touch for the first week of her absence, until work and the stress of chemotherapy made contact difficult. Thus, Connie had no idea that Rita would be returning that day. Nor did anyone else, for that matter. It had all been very rushed.

The sound of footsteps behind her made Rita glance around, arms tightening around herself as the wind resisted the movement.

A man was heading towards her in the direction of the ED, a rather large duffel coat wrapped around his body. Rita could just make out tufts of white hair in the darkness, and she smiled to herself.

"Charlie!"

The nurse looked up, brow furrowing as he struggled to identify the woman ahead of him. And then it clicked.

"Rita! Good god, is it really you?"

"I'm afraid so," she responded playfully, beginning to walk with him as he caught up.

"Blimey! It's been, what, eight months?"

"Just about. I've missed this place."

"Well, we've missed you. It's been very quiet without you." Charlie paused, as if thinking carefully about what to say next. "Connie's been fed up with nobody to argue with."

"Oh, I bet she has," Rita replied, smiling despite herself. They had reached the doors, and Charlie stopped, evidently waiting for her to enter first.

"Erm, the chemotherapy..." He sounded anxious, and his voice lowered so they could not be overheard. "Was it successful?"

Rita just smiled and pushed the door open. "Yes. Yes, it was."

Charlie mimicked her smile, watching her head through to reception before following at a slightly slower pace. He felt almost like a great weight had been lifted from his chest; Connie's mood over the past few months had been worrying him. Without the verbal sparring she and Rita were often engaged in to occupy herself, she'd become more and more distant from work. Maybe now she'd be back to her usual self, even if it did mean that the rest of the staff would suffer from a touch of the old 'Ice Queen'.

Rita hadn't anticipated just how much might have changed whilst she was away. She barely recognised most of the nursing staff she passed, and the ones she did know failed to acknowledge her. Rita sighed inwardly, losing her nerve a little. She was suddenly aware of just how much she had changed physically. The chemotherapy had taken its toll on her figure, and she had lost a lot of weight. Even her facial features were more pronounced as a result - the softness of her cheeks had slipped away somewhat, drawing attention to her cheekbones. It was a quality that she had often desired when she was younger, but now she wasn't sure if she liked it.

However, as she made her way to reception she saw Louise glance up. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she jabbed Noel in the arm to get his attention.

"It's Rita!"

"You're back!" The receptionist exclaimed as he looked up and registered what was happening. "How did it go?"

"All fine," Rita replied with a grin. It cheered her up to learn that she hadn't changed that much after all. "Hey, can I go through and visit everyone? I know I'm not back working yet, but I've missed it."

"Course you can," he said cheerfully, tossing her a visitors badge.

"We're glad you're back," Louise added, her voice unfamiliarly warm.

Rita smiled in return, pinning the badge to her shirt and saying a quick goodbye to the receptionists before she made her way through to cubicles.

The first person to notice her presence was Tess, who immediately dropped the folders she was carrying onto the desk and pulled her into a tight hug.

"We've missed you." She said, drawing back to smile at the blonde woman.

"I missed you all as well." Rita responded, a little taken aback by the fondness in Tess' voice.

"Is that Rita?" More voices surrounded her - she could pick out Robyn's in particular, and turned to face the nurse. Lofty was stood a while off, looking vaguely confused. Ethan and Cal had also stopped to find out what was going on. The two brothers looked equally surprised to see her, although Cal seemed to conceal it more effectively. Ethan pushed his glasses further up his nose, mouth hanging open.

"You're back," he stated simply, the awkwardness about him increasing by the second.

"Hi guys." Rita's voice took on a sheepish tone.

"It's good to see you," Ethan said after a brief pause. He gave her a somewhat calculating look. "Um, how did it go?"

"Very well," she responded, a little tired of the question by now. "I'll be working again by the end of the week. Sorry, have you seen Connie?"

Robyn grinned, clasping her hands in front of her body as she joined the conversation. "She's in her office. You know, she's been a lot quieter since you left."

The crowd had started to dissipate, and Lofty made his way over whilst Robyn was speaking. "I think she misses the arguing," he supplied. "It's good to have you back, boss."

"It's good to be back," Rita countered. "Erm, I'm just going to speak to her now. She doesn't know that I'm back yet."

"We're right here if you need anything," a sly smile curved Robyn's lips as she spoke. "I guess you two have a lot to sort out."

Rita's cheeks reddened. "What's that supposed to mean?" Her tone was somewhat defensive, although the question was punctured by a nervous laugh.

"Oh, nothing. Come on, Lofty, before Tess has us both disciplined again."

And the two nurses hurried off, laughing to themselves. Rita was left, a vaguely stunned expression on her face as she watched them leave.

* * *

"Charlie, can it wait? I'm really busy," the Clinical Lead sighed wearily from behind her desk as the door opened. She didn't bother to look up, absorbed as ever in her paperwork. Some things never changed.

"I know it's been a while, but not quite that long," came Rita's teasing reply.

There was a moment of silence as Connie looked up, her eyes widening. The blonde woman's lips quirked into a smile, and she closed the door behind her and took a few steps into the room. "Hi."

"Hi," Connie breathed. Both women stared at each other, the air thick between them. The Clinical Lead's eyes asked a single question.

Rita's expression softened. "Complete remission," was all she said.

A relieved puff of air escaped Connie's lips and she stood, the movement slow, almost dream-like.

In a few steps she had crossed the length of the office, and stood before the other woman. Rita's breath caught in her throat as Connie's arms embraced her, pulling the smaller woman close to her body. After recovering from the initial surprise of the gesture, she buried her face in the Clinical Lead's shoulder, breathing in the sandalwood scent of her hair. She was all too aware of the soft rise and fall of Connie's chest against hers, and found herself synchronising her own breathing to match it. A shiver passed through Rita's body at the intimacy of the embrace, and she was sure that in any other context, her face would be bright red. But too much had happened over the past year, and all she could feel was an overwhelming sense of relief.

For what might have been an age, they clung to each other, seemingly content in their shared warmth. When at last they broke apart, Rita's eyes were red-rimmed, and she blinked furiously a few times to dispel the pricking sensation behind them.

"I- erm, I've missed you," Connie said, the slightest hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"We sort of lost touch for a while there," Rita returned, her tone unusually coy.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, it wasn't your fault. We both had things going on."

The Clinical Lead paused, her gaze flickering over Rita's body quickly. It was evident that she had noticed the physical change in the younger woman, and she pursed her lips. "You've lost weight."

"Chemotherapy's not exactly a walk in the park," came the somewhat subdued reply. "I feel like I've aged ten years."

"Well I think you look fine," Connie muttered quickly. She realised a moment later what she'd just said and her cheeks flushed with colour. "I mean, you look..."

Rita laughed, shaking her head. "It's not like the Mrs Beauchamp I know to be lost for words."

"Well, it's been eight months. People... People can change."

"Yes, I s'pose they can," Rita gave her a strange look that she couldn't quite decipher. Eager to change the subject, she spoke again. "How's Grace?"

"She's fine. I had her stay for two weeks over the summer whilst I was off work. We made pancakes one morning and went to the cinema and the park together, and fed the ducks on the pond. She didn't even argue with me once."

"They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder," Rita said with a smile, blissfully unaware of the parallel she was drawing up.

"Yes," Connie's expression was curious, and she was suddenly very aware of their proximity. "They're right."

There was a knock at the door, and both women took a few hasty steps away from each other as Ethan entered.

"Mrs Beauchamp, could I have a second opinion on one of my patients, please?" He glanced between them, brow furrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

"I'll be out in a minute," Connie said, exasperated. She turned her attention back to Rita as Ethan nodded and closed the door. "I'm sorry, Rita, you know how it is."

"No, no, don't worry about it. I'll be back again within the week to start work properly. I just thought I'd come and say hi-"

"Let me buy you a drink tonight," Connie interrupted, faltering slightly after she'd spoken as she realised that she'd perhaps been a little too bold.

Rita looked surprised, but she nodded. "Well it'll have to be water. I've not had alcohol for eight months and I'm not about to start drinking again now."

"Water it is," the Clinical Lead said, relaxing visibly as she retrieved her stethoscope from the desk and draped it around her neck. "I'll meet you in the Hope and Anchor at seven."

"It's a date then," Rita teased as they moved towards the door.

She'd expected Connie to remain silent. Instead, the older woman glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows slightly raised. "Indeed it is."

The blonde's lips parted in shock as the door clicked shut. That was one response she hadn't anticipated. Eight months of planning a return and Connie had gone and ruined it with three words. Bloody typical.

Still, she was back at the ED, and Connie was there. Somehow, that was all that mattered.


	12. Eros III

A cheery atmosphere pervaded the pub that night, and there were very few empty seats as Connie entered. She glanced around for the familiar head of blonde hair, a smile playing on her lips as she located Rita. Incidentally, she was sat at the same table they had occupied all those months ago - the same night they had kissed...

She shook her head to dismiss the thought, a little disturbed by the fondness with which she recollected it. They had agreed, after all, that it was a mistake. It wasn't likely to happen again, and she didn't quite know how to feel about that.

Connie picked her way through the crowded room, fixing the collar of her shirt a little self-consciously. From what she could make out as she approached, Rita was wearing a dress. That in itself surprised her, although it was the pleasant sort of surprise that sent a warm feeling through her body. The dress was a dark blue colour, reminiscent of her Clinical Nurse Manager uniform, and it clung her slim figure in all the right places, hugging the feminine curves of her breasts and hips. Connie felt her cheeks grow warm; she was so accustomed to seeing Rita in shapeless clothing that she had never considered the shape of her body underneath.

"Connie," the woman in question had evidently become aware of her presence, and she stood to greet her. The dress shifted over her figure in a pleasing way as she moved.

The Clinical Lead could have slapped herself for some of the thoughts that were racing through her mind. "Good evening," she returned, all too aware of the fact that her cheeks were still burning. "It's warm in here."

"I'll get the drinks," Rita said brightly. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

Connie nodded, a subtle smile flickering across her face as the blonde made her way to the bar. She couldn't help her gaze from wandering after her, and pulled it back to the table with some degree of reluctance. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate around Rita, and that had no doubt been exacerbated by the months they'd spent apart. Connie had thought a lot about her feelings for the other woman, and it hadn't been too hard to come to the realisation that she cared about Rita a little more than she should do as a colleague, or even as a friend. It was admitting this that was the problem.

And of course there was the question of Rita's sexuality. Connie had always been fairly relaxed about whom she entered a relationship with. But as far as she knew, Rita was straight. There were rumours about her and Dixie - idle gossip that the Clinical Lead had picked up from spending too much time around the nurses - but from what she had heard it was a drunken thing, just like the kiss she herself had shared with Rita. Nothing would come of it.

Connie sighed, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She was getting ahead of herself.

"Here you are," a glass of wine was placed down in front of her and Rita took the seat opposite.

"Thank you," she replied, taking a small sip to occupy herself whilst she thought of something to say. "So how did things work out with your father?"

"Really well," the blonde said, her brown eyes lighting up. "We settled everything, you know, about Mark. He understands why I believed him and why I defended him."

"That's good." Connie toyed with the hem of her sleeve, choosing her next words carefully. She looked up through her lashes at Rita, whose eyes were reflecting the harsh lights of the bar.

"What're you thinking?" Rita murmured.

"I- uhm, I found your wedding ring. The last time we saw each other before you left for Manchester. It was in the top pocket of one of the suitcases." It was something that had been playing on her mind for a while, and the guilt of invading Rita's privacy like that had been gnawing away at her for months.

"Oh," Rita looked stricken. Her expression had softened in the way it often did when her husband was brought up. "Well... Mark contacted me, actually, about a month ago. He said he'd sign the divorce papers and... and let me move on."

"Does he know?" Connie asked curiously. "About the cancer?"

Rita shook her head. "I didn't speak to him about much really. I-" she allowed a somewhat bitter smile to slip into her features. "I told him I'd found someone else."

"Oh."

"I upset him, I think. But it was for the best."

"Was it?" Connie frowned, her elbows coming to lean on the table as she rested her head in her hands.

"I couldn't go on like that forever, Connie. And truthfully, I deserve better. What he did... It ruined my life, and it almost ruined my career as well." The Clinical Lead looked slightly ashamed at this, but she remained silent as Rita continued. "It was so difficult after he was locked up. I still loved him. I loved him for a long time, even though I hated him for what he'd done."

Connie pressed her lips together, placing her hand over Rita's. "You couldn't help that."

"No," she murmured, glancing down at their hands. "No, I couldn't."

"And you're right - you do deserve better," Connie murmured, fixing her gaze on her glass as she spoke. "You... You're a good person, Rita. And an incredible nurse. Holby's lucky to have you back."

The blonde smiled, a light blush staining her cheeks. She kept her eyes trained on the table for fear of Connie being able to see the emotion behind them if she looked up. The other woman was impossibly good at reading her.

"And," Connie continued, seizing the opportunity to lift the mood a little. "You make a really good cup of tea."

"Mrs Beauchamp," Rita glanced up at last, relieved to be able to lighten her tone, "are you flirting with me?"

The Clinical Lead smirked. "Don't flatter yourself, Sister Freeman."

Rita felt a pleasant shiver pass down her spine at Connie's words. She was very aware of the flushed skin of her cheeks, and drained the last of the water from her glass. "You were right before - it is warm in here.

Connie had also finished her wine and nodded. "It's too crowded as well. Let's get out."

The two women stood and made their way towards the exit, Rita leading. When she reached the door, she held it open for Connie, who raised an eyebrow.

"How very chivalrous," she commented. "Manchester must be a nice place to live if it's managed to drill some manners into you."

"Excuse me?" Rita's mouth dropped open in mock outrage. "I've always been very polite, I'll have you know!" Her voice lowered somewhat as they passed a group of porters. "And for the record, Manchester's got nothing on Holby."

"Oh really?" Connie halted a few steps to the right of the door, folding her arms across her chest. It was much colder outside than she'd anticipated.

"Yeah. It was missing one very important person," Rita spoke quickly before she could lose her nerve, and looked up through her lashes to gauge Connie's expression.

The older woman blinked. There was no doubt in her mind that she was the person Rita was referring to. "Me?" she enquired, a coy smile slipping into her features.

"Well I was going to say Max, actually, but I suppose you'll do," came the teasing response. Connie laughed, gaze dropping to the floor.

"I am really glad you're back, Rita," she said softly. "It's been a long eight months."

"Just a year ago you'd have been glad to see the back of me."

"A lot of things have changed," she said, and there was a slight tone of guilt detectable in her voice. "I'm sorry about making things difficult for you."

"I didn't make things easy for you either," Rita pointed out, taking a step closer to to Connie. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. Like you said, everything's changed."

There was a small silence, in which Rita's gaze searched the Clinical Lead's expression. Her lips parted slightly in thought, and Connie had to look away to momentarily distract herself. It was almost like Rita knew the effect she was having and continued to spite her.

"Connie," the blonde said suddenly, resulting in eye contact being made once again.

"Yes?"

"When I went in for the hysterectomy, I asked you why you were helping me. You said that somebody had to care." Rita's brow furrowed. "What did you mean by that?"

Connie exhaled, thinking carefully before she spoke. "I... I knew that you wouldn't ask anyone else to go with you. You're far too stubborn." She flashed an apologetic smile in Rita's direction. "Sorry. Anyway, I suppose I felt like I had the responsibility to stay with you, since nobody else offered. And... Well, I care about you, Rita. More than I think I should."

She finished speaking with an apprehensive glance at the blonde woman, unsure of how she would respond.

Rita was surprisingly relaxed. "You are flirting with me," she said, tone playfully accusatory. Her eyes had narrowed during the statement, and regarded Connie with an expression that could only be perceived as downright filthy.

The Clinical Lead studied the blonde for a matter of seconds before her gaze slid down to Rita's lips. She didn't know what to say, and they formed a pleasing, if not frustrating distraction from the conversation.

"What now, Mrs Beauchamp?" The words were spoken quietly, but the intent behind them was perfectly clear.

There was nothing else for it. Slowly, deliberately, Connie leaned in towards her. She hesitated briefly at the last second, thoughts too quick to process, before she pressed her lips to Rita's in a kiss. It was sweet and chaste, and so contrasting to the desire within her chest that she drew back almost immediately, a little confused with herself for abstaining. Then she realised that she was waiting for the other woman's permission to continue, and she drew a breath.

Rita's lips curved upwards into a triumphant smile. "Is that all you've got?"

That was all she needed.

Connie shook her head in a subtle, almost incredulous movement. "Shut up," she whispered in reply before her lips came crashing down upon Rita's. The younger woman responded enthusiastically, hands travelling up to tug at the collar of Connie's shirt as she parted her lips to deepen the kiss. This time it was far from gentle, and she felt something stir in her stomach that she hadn't felt for a long time. Skilled fingers threaded themselves through her cropped hair, tugging at the sensitive section at the back of her neck and drawing a soft sigh from the Clinical Nurse Manager. Connie's other hand sat at her lower back, pulling them together so that there was a complete lack of space between them.

Their lips only lost contact when the need for air became too great. For a few seconds their bodies remained pressed tightly together, and then Rita dropped her hands to meet Connie's. Their fingers twined.

"You could come back to mine," Connie said breathlessly at last, forehead leaning against Rita's still.

The blonde felt a tingle rush through her lower body, and nodded, wetting her lips slightly with her tongue. "Just for a _drink_ , yeah?" There was a suggestive tone in her voice as she spoke that couldn't be accidental. Connie had no doubt of the things that would transpire at her house, and the prospect did unspeakable things to her body.

The Clinical Lead smirked, resisting the urge to kiss Rita again. She had a reputation as the Ice Queen to maintain, after all. "Just for a _drink_."


End file.
